


All The Different Kinds of Sunshine

by CaffieneKitty



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Crossover, Doctor Who References, Gen, Introspection, John really should be listening, Monologue, POV First Person, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffieneKitty/pseuds/CaffieneKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her youth, Mrs. Hudson did some travelling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Different Kinds of Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> A short first person monologue by Mrs. Hudson, delivered to a John Watson who really should be paying more attention. Kind of in honour of the upcoming 50th anniversary of Doctor Who, but really it just jumped up and ambushed me today.

Sherlock reminds me of another man I used to know. I was with him for a long while.

Oh, not like that, he wasn't that sort. Or any sort, as much as I could tell. We just travelled together. Saw things you wouldn't believe. Floating rocks, cathedral-spire cities full of talking badgers. He showed me all the different kinds of sunshine. Always got into loads of trouble, but always managed to find the way back out somehow. Just like Sherlock.

The man was mad of course, travelling like that. Not knowing whether it'll be flowers or flames you land in, it's enough to drive anyone mad. He kept on though. Helping people, always finding the problems of a place and trying to make them better. It hurt him so badly the few times he couldn't help. And oh, he was one for running. Running here and there, right across the universe. I was never sure if he was running from something or running to something, but he was always running.

Funny way I met him too. My friend, Minnie, she was the wild one; a real menace. I always just followed her lead. We were out and about as it were; it was the sixties you know, protests and free love and whatnot. There was a bit of a set-to in Mayfair and the police took exception. 'Public nuisances' they called us. She got put in one Police Box and I got put in another, and I thought when they put me in, "Gosh, these have a lot more room inside than they look." Of course it wasn't a proper Police Box at all, but by then we were already off to the 12th century after a sort of a walrus-fish-thing, so never mind.

He was so old, though he didn't look it. Once in a while, he'd call me 'Dodo'. Not an insult mind you, just someone else's name. So many things he'd done and seen, people he'd travelled with. I expect they got muddled up now and then.

The day I left him and his box he said I shouldn't go, but that he knew I had somewhere else I needed to get to yet and that to get there I had to go where he couldn't keep me safe. He looked so sad. He was right too. I'd met George when we landed in America and fallen in love, or so I'd thought, silly little fool I was. I'd thought, "Better a life you could set up roots and a family, can't spend the rest of your days flying around with a madman in a box." But that didn't work out at all now did it?

I suppose though, it was good that I did leave when I did. If I hadn't met George and gotten mixed up in his business, I'd never have met Sherlock, or you. It was a rough road to get here, but I wouldn't change a step of the journey, if it meant risking never having met you two. Sherlock is like, well he's like a son I never had. A loud, brash messy son. Oh, he has a good heart in him, he just hides it very well to keep it protected. Like that other man I knew. I'm sure he's still around, you know, travelling in his box. I don't think he'd ever stop.

Oh, here I am, prattling on and you writing your blog. Never mind me.

How about a cuppa then? Ooo, and I've got a new sort of biscuits in and it'd be just the excuse to open the packet. But only this once, mind.


End file.
